


Interrogation Tactics 101

by Lalalli



Series: The Applebirds and The Applebees [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jemma is bad at lying, unwarranted jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fitzsimmons are pitted against each other in an interrogations course, some truths come to light.  </p><p>But not before comedic misunderstandings and shenanigans, of course.</p><p>*Takes place in my "friends with benefits" universe*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for forever. I have most of it written, but I'm hoping that at least posting the first part will motivate me to finally finish the darn thing.
> 
> Many thanks to badscienceshenanigans for help with the sciency parts!

“Tell me again why we need to take this class?” Fitz whispers, resting his elbow on the plastic armrest between them and leaning closer to Jemma’s ear. “We’ll be working in a lab - we don’t need to practice interrogating people.”

Jemma continues to keep her eyes focused on the front of the lecture hall, back straight and pen poised over her notebook, ready to write at a moment’s notice. “Maybe not, but we do need practice _being_ interrogated.”

“Again. We’ll be working in a lab.”

This time Jemma turns to look at him, whispering excitedly, “Yes, in a lab as employees of a spy agency. Think of it, Fitz! We’ll have all sorts of valuable intel! It’s quite thrilling.”

Fitz frowns. “No, not thrilling. _Dangerous_.” He leans back into his seat and mutters, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Agent Oates walks across the front of the lecture hall. “Fitz.”

“Yes?” Fitz and Simmons respond simultaneously.

Agent Oates looks at Simmons, confused. “Just Fitz,” she clarifies.

Sally Weber leans forward from her seat behind Simmons. “Since when is your name Fitz?” she teases.

Jemma rolls her eyes haughtily. “ _Obviously_ , I thought it was short for FitzSimmons.” She turns to look at Sally. “You know, kind of like how sometimes people, instead of saying, ‘Hey Weber,’ they just say, ‘Hey Web!’”

Sally gives her a pitying look. “That’s not a thing.”

“Or instead of saying,’Sally,’ they say, ‘Hey, Sal!’”

“That doesn’t happen,” Sally whispers as Jemma turns back to face the front. “That literally has _never_ happened.”

“Simmons,” Oates calls out.

Simmons straightens in her seat. “Yes?”

“You’ll be partnered with Weber.”

Jemma bites her lip and glances at Fitz. “But what about-”

“He’s paired with Simon.”

Jemma leans forward to look at Sara Simon at the end of the row, then looks back at Oates. “But...why?”

Oates rolls her eyes. “Because you both need practice interrogating people whose minds you _can’t_ read.”

\-------------------------

After class, Jemma grabs Fitz’s arm and drags him to the front of the class. “Agent Oates,” she says brightly, a wide smile on her face. Fitz recognizes it immediately as her Teacher’s Pet face. “Dr. Fitz and I just have a quick question for you.”

Oates pulls off her reading glasses with one hand. “What can I help you with,” she asks warily.

“Well, you just said that the intel we have to practice extracting is whatever project we’re working on at the moment, and that we’ll eventually have to extract it from every other person in this class.”

Oates raises an eyebrow. “Yes...and?”

“Well, I just wanted to remind you that Dr. Fitz and I are partners and work on all our projects together - so we already know everything about what the other is working on,” Jemma reminds her.

Oates crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, I just want to remind you that I’ve already communicated with Dr. Hall - who, might I also remind you, as your advisor has to approve of all supply and equipment requests you make. So I already know that both of you are working on projects that you haven’t told your partner about yet.”

Jemma flushes when she remembers the paralyzing agent she hasn’t told Fitz about yet. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to know about the research itself - she just doesn’t want him to know about all the poisonous toads she’s been dissecting and extracting fluids from in what he refers to “his pristine lab.”

She turns to look worriedly at Fitz. It’s not until she notices that he also looks nervous that she realizes the other half of Oates’s statement - Fitz has been hiding something from her, too.

Oates glances between the two of them. “Will that be all?” she asks curtly.

Jemma nods weakly. “Yup. That’s all.”

\---------------------

Jemma leans over her microscope, not really registering what she was seeing. All she can think about is Fitz’s secret project.

When does he even have time to work on it anyways? They spend practically every single moment of the day together.

Sure, Jemma has time to work on her paralytic agent in the lab by herself, but only because Fitz is busy in his Covert Aeronautics Engineering class at the time.

And that’s when she realizes - Fitz isn’t next to her right now. He didn’t need to take this Extraterrestrial Biology lab with her (nor did he have any desire to).

She’s overcome with the sudden urge to run to their shared lab to confirm her suspicion. Sure, it’s all the way on the other side of the building, but it’s not like it’s across campus. She could easily pretend she’s going to the loo and run to their lab instead. And if Dr. Hall thought she took too long...well, she had the entire walk to the lab and back to come up with a plausible excuse.

Her mind made up, she tugs off her gloves and slips out of her lab coat.

Matsuoka looks at her questioningly from across the lab bench.

“Restroom,” Jemma explains.

Matsuoka nods and looks down into her microscope again.

Jemma tries to walk as casually as she can through the hall. She tries to remember how people look when they’re on the way to the loo. She adds a little bounce into her step, as though she were desperately holding it in. She frowns and squints, trying her best to look uncomfortable.

But what if she were returning to class from the loo? In that case, she should be hurrying back to class so that she doesn’t miss anything interesting. She quickens her stride, swinging her arms wildly.

Just when she reaches the door to her lab, it swings open and she collides into the person leaving. She starts to fall backwards, but then she feels sturdy hands wrap around her upper arm.

“Simmons?”

Jemma blinks, focusing on the familiar face in front of her. “Fitz!” she exclaims brightly. “What a surprise!”

Fitz narrows his eyes at her. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in class.”

“I was on my way to the loo,” she lies.

Fitz frowns and points behind her “It’s that way,” he reminds her.

Jemma laughs a bit manically. “Okay, you got me. Class was cancelled, so I wanted to see if you wanted to work on the dwarves.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “Class was cancelled?” he repeats.

“Yup!”

Fitz reaches forward, and to Jemma’s embarrassment, removes her safety glasses from her face. “They why are you wearing these?”

Jemma’s smile falters. “I…”

Fitz’s jaw drops suddenly. “Hold on. Were you trying to spy on me?” he demands.

“Nooooo….” Jemma takes a step back. “Don’t be...I don’t...of course...not.”

“Then why-”

Jemma reaches forward, grabs her safety glasses from him, and sprints down the hall back to class.

(Later, when Dr. Hall asks Jemma why she was gone for so long, Jemma starts babbling, “You see, I’ve been wanting to try that food truck that parks around the corner on Thursdays, Tacos a Go Go, so I ordered one today - grilled chicken - I know the carne asada and the barbacoa is supposed to be excellent, but chicken is much better for you - but anyways, they must not practice standard food safety because I think I got food poisoning so I had to go to the bathroom to take a _massive_ -”

Dr. Hall holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Say no more.”)


	2. Chapter 2

“Simmons!” Fitz knocks on the wall between their rooms. “Simmons!”

Jemma rolls her eyes as she turns the page of her textbook. “What?” she calls back. She’s _just_ nestled back against her carefully arranged pillows and she’s not about to sacrifice her comfy position just because Fitz wants attention.

“Help!” Fitz calls.

“For the hundredth time, Fitz, if the fitted sheet won’t fit on the mattress, turn it the _other_ way!”

“Not with that!” 

“Then with what?” Jemma calls back, exasperated.

Silence. Finally: “I need attention!”

Simmons rolls her eyes again. “Then come here!”

Fitz bounds into her room, full of restless energy, scampering and grinning like a hyperactive puppy. He jumps into the bed next to her and lies down on his side, facing her.

Jemma turns the page of her textbook again, then reaches over to scratch at his scalp.

“Yes,” Fitz sighs happily. “This is almost as much attention as I always need.” He leans up and kisses Jemma’s cheek.

“Don’t distract me,” Jemma warns.

Fitz leans his head on Jemma’s shoulder. “I want to talk,” he whines. “I barely saw you all day, between Aeronautics and interrogation practice with Simon…”

“Oh?” Jemma asks in a voice way too high-pitched to sound casual. “How was it with Simon today?”

Fitz shrugs. “It was fine. We’re both rubbish at the whole interrogating thing, to be quite honest. I was too busy looking for tells she was lying to hear a word she said, so I had no idea what she was lying _about_.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll at least be more adept at being interrogated than I am,” Jemma sighs. “Everyone knows I’m awful at lying.”

Fitz grins at her. “Well, maybe you just need to _practice_ ,” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. He leans forward to press kisses into her neck.

Jemma laughs. “I doubt the practice you have in mind will help in this specific situation.”

Fitz presses his lips to Jemma’s, sliding her book out of her hands and tossing it to the floor. “But it can’t hurt, right?” he mumbles into her mouth.

Jemma tangles her fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. “I thought you wanted to talk,” she reminds him.

Fitz nods enthusiastically. “Yup. I have a lot to tell you.” And then he tells her a lot of things with his mouth without using any words.

\----------------

Sally makes a big production of stretching her back and rolling her shoulders as Jemma looks around the practice interrogation room, with its stark white walls and the large two-way mirror spanning across the wall she’s facing. For some reason, practice necessitates that the interrogatee be handcuffed to the heavy metal table in the middle of the room, and all Jemma wants is for Sally to get on with it so she can have her right hand back.

Sally plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to study Jemma. “This is useless,” she sighs.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “We haven’t even started yet.”

Sally shrugs. “I know, but there’s no reason for you to give up the information. It’s not like I actually have the authority to, I don’t know, arrest you or torture you or give you an F,” she observes, prompting an involuntary shudder from Jemma. “I’m not even allowed to keep you in this room past eleven.”

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “Best get on with it then.”

Sally pulls a metal folding chair to the table and sits across from Jemma. “Where were you last Saturday at 1:30 a.m.?”

Jemma frowns. “What does that have to do with my research?”

Sally pounds her fist on the table. “Answer the question, Simmons!” she yells.

Jemma flinches. “At the Boiler Room!”

Sally leans forward. “And what were you doing there?”

“Having drinks with Dr. Fitz, like always. I hardly see how this is relevant to the-”

Sally shoots to her feet, her chair toppling to its back behind her, roaring, “I’M THE ONE WHO ASKS THE QUESTIONS HERE!”

Jemma shrinks in her seat. “Duly noted,” she mutters.

“And at what point did you enter the men’s restroom with Dr. Fitz?” Sally asks sternly.

Jemma’s eyes widen. “That...did not happen,” she lies.

Sally plants both open palms on the table and leans on them. “I saw you come out of the bathroom together.”

“Well, there’s a very simple reason for that. You see, there was a very terrible clog in one of the toilets, causing it to overflow and flood the bathroom.” Jemma is acutely aware that she is rambling and talking much too quickly, but she did read that talking too slowly is a sign that someone is lying, so it just goes to reason that someone who is talking too quickly should be telling the truth, right? Right.

“Anyways, Fitz, besides being a brilliant engineer, is quite adept as a plumber - I mean, of course he would be, I mean he has his Ph.D., a toilet would hardly be a challenge for him, and he needed my assistance to...uh...hand him tools. And such. Like wrenches. And other things. And you should’ve seen it Sally - it was such a mess. Just, water...and feces! There was also feces. Everywhere. I mean, just...floating...around _everywhere_. I had to sit on the sink, the water level was so high.” It’s true that Jemma was sitting on the sink, but that was for a different reason _entirely_. “I mean, we must have been in there for at least an hour.” This was also true.

Sally raises an eyebrow. “And did you get that hickey on your neck before or after fixing the toilet.”

Jemma’s free hand automatically flies to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, right where it had been earlier in the week, before she realizes that not only has the mark already faded, but she just gave away that she really did have a mark on her neck. “That...was...most certainly _not_ a hickey,” she lies.

“Then what was it?”

Jemma’s eyes dart around the room. “Uhhh...leeches! There were leeches - just swimming in the water that was gushing out of the toilet. It was disgusting. You should’ve seen my legs - so many bites. All over.”

Sally saunters over to the door and plucks a file folder out of the wall-mounted magazine rack next to it. She flips through the folder’s contents as she walks back towards Simmons. “And were there also leeches the month prior, when you were _also_ seen leaving the men’s restroom together?”

Jemma’s mouth open and closes silently. What was _in_ that folder? “Well...it’s not our fault that the Boiler Room has very old plumbing.”

“And are you aware that if you two were to get caught having intercourse in a public restroom, you could face charges of public indecency?” Sally asks sharply.

“What?” Jemma sputters. “We’ve never - that’s not - I mean, we haven’t done anything _illegal_ \- ”

“And are you aware that according the the Academy handbook, having intercourse in an on-campus restroom could result in suspension, or even expulsion -”

“Well, that’s an outdated and antiquated rule that hasn’t been enforced in the past decade and really, the Academy has no right to dictate their students’ personal lives and _furthermore_ , we were just making out!” Jemma protests, her stream of words outracing her brain. She doesn’t even realize what she’s admitted to until Sally grins and jumps up and down, clapping gleefully.

“Okay, Simmons, just because I’m so happy right now, I’m going to let you off the hook,” Sally tells her excitedly, skipping around the table and unlocking Jemma’s handcuff. As soon as Jemma’s wrist is free, she covers her face with both hands. “I can’t believe you,” she groans.

Sally pulls Jemma to her feet. “We are going to dinner and you are going to spill,” Sally informs her.

“I hardly think-”

Sally puts her hands on Jemma’s shoulders and looks into her eyes. “Think about it, Simmons. We can do this the easy way, or...” Sally gestures towards the handcuffs lying on the table. “We can do this the hard way.”

Jemma sighs. “Dinner it is.” It’s not like she has to tell Sally _everything_. She’ll probably be satisfied with the stories of the copious amounts of kissing she and Fitz have been doing. If Sally ends up being too insistent, Jemma can just tell _one_ story of second base.

Jemma’s so busy filing through which stories are acceptable to share and which ones she needs to lock in her mental vault that she doesn’t even realize that Sally’s asking her another question until she waves her hand in front of Jemma’s face. “Huh?” Jemma asks, as she walks through the door that Sally’s holding open for her.

Sally smiles patiently at her. “I asked what ridiculous name Fitz has given your latest joint project.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. Fitz is infamous for giving all their projects absurdly ludicrous names. “He calls them the Dwarves.”

Sally scrunches her nose. “Why?”

Jemma sighs. “Because there’s seven of them, each with its own specialized purpose, or if you listen to Fitz, personality. As if a drone’s function could really be considered a personality. I mean, my function is a biochemist, but that’s hardly my personality. Everyone knows that personality is a confluence of one’s experiences and -” Jemma stops short and squeezes her eyes shut. “I just gave you my intel, didn’t I?”

Sally slings her arms around her shoulder. “Look on the bright side.”

“And what’s that?” Jemma groans dejectedly.

“You get to make out with Fitz when you get home tonight.”

\------------------------

Jemma does not get to make out with Fitz that night. She doesn’t get to make out with Fitz the next day either, sick as she is.

Fitz peeks his head into the bathroom, where Jemma is sprawled, face-down, over the toilet seat. “Water?” he offers.

“Put it on the sink,” she tells him, her muffled voice echoing off the porcelain walls of the toilet bowl.

Fitz places the glass of water on the sink and kneels next to Jemma, sympathetically rubbing her back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Remind me to never go to sketchy sushi restaurants with Weber ever again,” Jemma says darkly, before retching once more, the contents of her stomach splashing inside the toilet.

Fitz grimaces as he holds her hair back. “Duly noted.” Reaching up, he opens a drawer under the sink and pulls out a hair elastic. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks as he wraps the elastic around her hair.

“No,” Jemma says weakly. “We have Interrogations today. I need you to take notes so I don’t fall behind.”

Fitz frowns. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Jemma affirms. “It’s just food poisoning. I’ll be right as rain in - bleeerrch!!!”

\-----------------------

Fitz frowns when he walks into the lecture hall and sees Sally sitting in her usual seat. After a moment’s hesitation, he down the aisle and takes the seat next to her.

Sally raises an eyebrow when she sees him. “Where’s Simmons?”

Fitz scowls. “Whatever you fed her last night gave her food poisoning,” he chastises her.

Sally rolls her eyes. “There’s no way she has food poisoning. I ate everything she ate.”

“Well, she’s been throwing up all morning…” Fitz points out in the same tone of voice he usually reserves for people who keep their dogs locked in their cars on hot days.

Sally sighs sympathetically. “I guess that’s what happens when all you eat is organic kale. Your stomach gets too sensitive to handle normal food.”

“Somehow I think it has less to do with her weak constitution than it does with the B grade Happy Sushi got from the health department,” Fitz says drily.

Sally just shrugs. “Hey, B is above average. And besides, if she’s sick and I’m not when we ate the same food off the same plate, then there’s probably another reason she’s doing the technicolor yawn. Ever thought about that?”

Fitz hadn’t, but it’s definitely something he thinks about for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

After their initial practice interrogation with their partners, Agent Oates announces that from that point forward, they’ll be paired together to interrogate the other pairs. “There are a variety of reasons why you’d need a partner,” Oates explains. “You might need one person to observe for nonverbal cues while the other is asking questions - they can pick up on things you miss when you’re otherwise distracted. You can utilise the strategy of Good Cop, Bad Cop. Not to mention that it would be difficult to interrogate someone under conditions of sleep deprivation if you’re sleep deprived yourself.”

Fitz raises his hand. “Isn’t sleep deprivation considered...uh...an _enhanced_ interrogation technique?”

“Don’t worry - when we get to that part of the unit, we’ll just practicing _mild_ sleep deprivation,” Oates assures him. “It’ll just be 40 hours instead of 120, and we won’t even shackle you to the walls.”

“That’s reassuring,” Sally mutters under her breath.

Jemma’s too busy thinking about Fitz partnering with someone who isn’t her to worry about sleep deprivation. What if he works better with Sara than he does with her? What if he gets on better with Sara than he does with her? What if they start working on projects together? What if he wants to be lab partners with Sara instead of her? Oh God, what if people start referring to them as _FitzSimon_???

Because that’s what she’s worried about. The science. She can’t science quite as well without him. She’s not worried about Sara replacing her as Fitz’s best friend and practice partner. Because, really, what would Fitz see in Sara? Her auburn hair is way too shiny and her nose is way too perky and she’s just way too fit. Like, you can tell that she actually exercises in her free time. And her smile is way too genuine and she’s just way too friendly and okay, so maybe she also has two Ph.D.s, but one of them is in _psychology_ and everyone knows that that’s a soft science. Nope, Jemma’s not worried at all.

Science is absolutely the only thing on Jemma’s mind when she, with arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face, watches as Fitz and Sara lean their heads together, looking down at the open notebooks scattered across their table in the campus coffee shop.

“Jealous?” Sally asks, leaning forward.

“Of who?” Jemma responds immediately, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Simon? Why? Because she’s on a coffee date with Fitz? Why would I care? I don’t care.”

Sally presses her lips tightly together, her shoulders shaking as she tries her best not to laugh. “You are the worst liar in the world.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I fully support Fitz’s efforts in his romantic pursuits. We’re just friends.”

Sally shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Oh God. Stop. Just...stop. Please. It is physically painful, watching you lie. It’s like watching a fish flop around on land.”

“We’re not romantically involved!” Jemma protests.

“Right. Just because you spend all your time together and share every thought with each other and live together and frequently make out doesn’t mean you’re romantically involved.”

Jemma laughs awkwardly. “I hardly think it could be considered frequent...” It’s really more like constant.

Sally picks at her scone absentmindedly. “But what I’m curious about is how long you’ve been sleeping together.”

Jemma’s jaw drops. “How on earth did you find out? Who told you?”

“You just did!” Sally crows triumphantly. She turns her notebook around. “Implying you have more information than you actually have can elicit useful information.” She holds out her fist and drops her pen onto the table. “Boom! Mic drop!” 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to engage in celebratory gloating in front of the source.”

Sally is too busy doing the cabbage patch to hear her.

Jemma turns the page of her notebook so forcefully it almost rips. “Come on,” she huffs impatiently. “We have to interrogate Rodriguez and Abdullah tomorrow, and we don’t even have a starting point.

Sally waves her hand flippantly. “It’ll be easy - we won’t even have to switch. We’ll use Pride and Ego Down on Rodriguez - he has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. I can take care of him easy.”

“Well that leaves me with Abdullah,” Jemma reminds her. “What am I supposed to do?”

Sally gives her an incredulous look. “Seriously? That guy has the hugest crush on you - not to mention that he’s crazy intimidated by you.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “He is? I don’t remember ever having a conversation with him.”

Sally shakes her head. “Poor guy. All you’d have to do is ask nicely, and he’d probably spill.”

\---------------

“Fitz,” Sara whispers, leaning into his space. “Why is Simmons glaring at us?”

Fitz’s head jerks up from where he had been concentrating intently on scribbling in the notebook in front of him. The coffee shop is full of people and idle chatter and whirring of espresso machines, but he had blocked all of that out as soon as he had settled down to work. He didn’t even see Simmons walk in. Fitz wildly looks around the coffee shop until his eyes suddenly meet hers. 

Jemma’s eyes widen and she immediately turns to look at Weber, laughing wildly as though she has just heard something hilarious. Weber’s eyebrows crinkle in obvious confusion.

“I wouldn’t call it _glaring_ ,” Fitz corrects Sara, turning back to look at her. He feels oddly defensive on her behalf - Jemma is much too nice to glare. “It’s more like...looking intently.”

Sara’s brow furrows. “But still...why?”

Fitz purses his lips, looking back across the room at Jemma. “Knowing Simmons? Probably trying to read our lips or something.”

Sara turns to look across the room at Simmons. “Why would she want to do that?” she asks, her voice full of alarm.

Fitz taps his pen against his notebook. “Probably trying to get an edge on the assignment - see if she can find out any intel. She gets very competitive when it comes to school.”

Sara turns back to look at him, her eyebrows raised. “Can she read lips?”

Fitz shrugs. “Simmons can do anything.”

\---------------

To Jemma’s immense surprise, Abdullah does, in fact, volunteer his intel after Jemma asks nicely. She would’ve felt bad for him if he hadn’t immediately demanded she go on a date with him , stating that she owes him and insinuating that the only reason she’s had any success at all is because she’s pretty. Sally was definitely wrong about him being intimidated by her. Jemma decides to leave him handcuffed to his table in the interrogation room while she checks on Sally’s progress with Rodriguez.

She slips into the adjoining observation room on the other side of the one way mirror in time to watch Sally start dancing, alternating between The Sprinkler and The Lawnmower.

“You know,” Rodriguez observes, his voice bitter, “for someone who’s a self-proclaimed ‘proud Black woman’, you sure do dance a lot like a White dad.”

\---------------

Simmons stares up at the ceiling, her toes digging into her mattress as she continues her rant. “And _then_ , after I told him that under no circumstances would I go on a date with him, he had the nerve to...Fitz? You’re stopping.” She looks down at the lump under the sheets. “Why are you stopping?”

Fitz climbs up her body until his head emerges from the sheets. He folds his arms across her stomach and rests his chin on them. “It seems like...you don’t…” Fitz sighs as he searches for the most diplomatic way to phrase his concerns. “You seem distracted,” he concludes finally. 

Jemma reaches forward and scratches his scalp affectionately. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I’m still stuck on what Abdullah said. But it really did feel very nice.”

Fitz rolls off her, groaning, “Great. You’re thinking about another guy while I go down on you, but at least it felt _nice_. That’s fantastic for the self-esteem.” He lies on his back next to her, folding his hands under his head and looking up at the ceiling.

Jemma scoots in closer to him and throws an arm over his stomach. “Oh, Fitz.” Jemma rests her head on his chest. “I’m sorry. You know how I can be.”

“I don’t see why you’re expending so much energy caring about what he thinks anyways,” Fitz grumps. You’re clearly the smartest and most accomplished person at the Academy.”

He says it as though it’s a fact, a law of science as incontrovertible as gravity. Jemma again feels the telltale swoop in her stomach, the one that often accompanies the warm swell of fond appreciation in her heart for her best friend.

“But wouldn’t you feel frustrated, too?” Jemma points out. “If time and time again, colleagues refused to recognize your brilliance and talent and just attributed your success to your good looks?”

Fitz mulls it over for a few moments. “I see your point,” he concedes. He lets one arm wrap around her shoulders. “I guess I didn’t realize the challenges that come with being physically attractive.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Fitz!” she huffs, frustrated. “It has to do with being a woman, not with being attractive - otherwise you’d be experiencing the same problems!”

Fitz looks down at her, his eyes wide. “You think I’m physically attractive?”

Jemma’s first instinct is to point out that they’ve been practicing with each other for over a year, but her sudden realization of how much time has passed since they’ve started their arrangement is bringing up thoughts and questions that she’d rather not consider too closely, so she changes course. “Objectively,” she says, sitting up. “You have a low body fat percentage and a symmetrical face. So it’s not just what, you know, what _I_ think. It’s science.”

Fitz grins. “I should add that to my Tinder profile: ‘Objectively attractive, according to renown double-PhD biochemist Jemma Simmons. And science.’”

Jemma looks down at him in alarm. “You have a Tinder account?”

Fitz laughs. “Don’t be daft, Jemma. Why on earth would I have a Tinder account?”

Jemma resists the urge to point out that he’s a single man who is ostensibly in search of a single woman, so it would make perfect sense for him to have a Tinder account. But she doesn’t want to put ideas in his head, so instead she climbs onto him, straddling his hips. Yup, just one single woman straddling her also single but perfectly platonic best friend. Nothing strange here.

She takes her index finger and drags it quickly across the skin of his torso, repeating the motion a few times before Fitz catches her hand, interlacing their fingers. “What are you doing,” he laughs, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Jemma leans down and presses a kiss into his neck before whispering into his ear, “I’m swiping right.”


	4. Chapter 4

Fitz watches Jemma suppress a scowl as Sara sits in the chair next to Fitz, across from Sally, at their lunch table.

“-give too much away,” Sally continues, waving a carrot stick around. “But Aldridge is _very_ sensitive about the size of his hands.”

“Should we really be giving them tips?” Jemma complains. “They’re the competition.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “It’s not a competition.”

Jemma picks and prods at her salad, seeming, for some reason, annoyed. “The only people who say it’s not a competition are the people losing the competition,” she mutters.

Fitz raises his eyebrows. Usually, when Jemma gets competitive, she teases and smiles and enjoys winding Fitz up. But today, she’s scowling and quiet and speaking in a low and resentful voice.

“Is everything okay, Simmons?” Fitz asks.

“Don’t worry - we’ll return the favor,” Sara offers quickly. “Who are you interrogating next?”

“Chin and Wilkins,” Sally responds.

Sara catches Fitz’s eyes and grins. “The important thing to remember is…” Her voice catches and she barely manages to spurt out the words between her suppressed giggles. “To keep...spanking that chicken!”

Fitz chokes on his water and bursts out laughing.

Sally and Jemma look at both of them, confused. “Um...what?” Sally asks.

Fitz tries to take deep breaths so he can calm down enough to talk. Sara manages to compose herself first. “It’s an inside joke,” she explains breathlessly. “It’s because-”

“Wilkins,” Fitz continues. “He doesn’t-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Jemma crumples up her napkin and throws it onto her unfinished salad. “Lovely,” she says briskly, standing up. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Fitz frowns. “But what about your-”

“Not hungry,” she snaps as she walks away.

Fitz’s eyes follow Jemma as she empties her tray into the trash can and stalks out of the cafe. “What’s going on with her?” he wonders aloud.

Sally and Sara exchange knowing looks. “I think she’s jealous,” Sally explains.

Fitz wrinkles his nose. “Of what? The pair of you have successfully interrogated just as many people as we have.”

Sally rolls her eyes and turns to Sara. “Aren’t we supposed to be partnered with geniuses?

Fitz tunes out the girls’ teasing as he thinks back on the past few days. It’s more likely that she’s just not feeling well. Jemma hadn’t thrown up since her bout of food poisoning, but it did seem like she was eating less than usual. In fact, he could think of several occasions where she didn’t finish her meal, claiming that she wasn’t hungry. Maybe she still felt nauseated.

She’d been more irritable, too. Could it be…

It couldn’t be, though. They were safe. They almost always used two different forms of birth control.

But still...when was the last time he’d seen those pastel plastic wrappers overflowing out of the bathroom wastebasket? And when was the last time that Jemma cancelled practice for the week? Has it been more than a month?

There was only one way to find out for sure: he had to dig around their bathroom for proof.

\---------------

Jemma looks herself over one more time. The last time she’d bought lingerie was for their first time together, and even then it was fairly modest, as far as undergarments go. This time, her outfit - if it could be called that - was downright tarty.

She uncaps her favorite brick-red lipstick - she had chosen her bra and knicker set precisely because the hue matches her lipstick - and swipes it on. She smacks her lips together, then tousles her hair for good measure, letting the waves settle around her shoulders.

She smiles, her nose scrunching, and nods at her reflection in satisfaction. “Perfect.” And not a moment too soon, because just then she hears the front door open and close.

“Jemma?” Fitz calls from the living room. “You home?”

“Just a moment,” Jemma calls back, shrugging on one of Fitz’s crisp button-up shirts and buttoning it over her torso, making sure to leave the top few unbuttoned so that Fitz can get a good glimpse of her cleavage.

He isn’t going to know what hit him. The sooner she gets the intel from him, the sooner they can go back to being Fitzsimmons, with _their_ inside jokes and spending all _their_ time together and finishing _each other’s_ sentences. She is going to be the best sexy interrogator _ever_.

\--------------------------

”How was your day?” Jemma calls from inside her bedroom.” 

Fitz flops down onto the couch, disappointed. He was hoping that Jemma would be out so that he could have some time to snoop through the bathroom. “It was fine,” he calls back. “A bit exhausting, to be quite honest, but then again -” But then Jemma appears in the doorway of her bedroom and he’s suddenly very, very glad she’s home.

His mouth drops open. "I...uhhh. What?" Fitz stammers rather intelligently, as he takes in all her skin on display. "Why...are you...uh, not that I'm complaining! Just...ummm..." He swallows. "What?"

Jemma smiles mischievously and makes her way to the couch. Instead of sitting next to him, she sits sideways on his lap, stretching her bare legs along the length of the couch and curling one arm around his neck. "You were telling me about your day," she reminds him, tracing a finger under the collar of his shirt.

Fitz stares at her face in wide-eyed awe. "Uh, right. Good." He coughs and tugs at his collar before tentatively placing a hand on her upper thigh. "It was good." His eyes dart to her cleavage before returning to her eyes. "Though, um...I think it's just been upgraded to fantastic," he admits.

"Hmmm," Jemma hums, her fingertips trailing across his clavicle. "Tell me about it."

Fitz grins and leans in. Jemma leans away from him. "That wasn't an agreement," she clarifies. "I meant, tell me about your day. What did you do?"

Fitz frowns, his head still foggy from the sheer amount of stimuli flooding his senses. "I...seriously?"

Jemma toys with his top button. "I want to know," she pouts, tilting her forehead against his temple.

"I..." Fitz tilts his head back, searching the ceiling for words. "I went to class." Had lunch with you. Did some planning with Sara for next week's simulation. Worked on my project in the lab."

Jemma's smile widens. "And how _is_ your project coming?" Jemma asks, reaching up to her own shirt and undoing one button, exposing more cleavage.

Fitz watches her, transfixed. "Um, ran into a bit of a roadblock.”

Jemma shifts to straddle him and runs her fingers through his hair. “That’s too bad."

Fitz just stares at her chest and nods. He can see a glimpse of red peeking out from the opening of her shirt. His shirt, really. Though it looks better on her. Much, much better.

Jemma takes his hands and places them on her chest, hinting that he should take over unbuttoning her shirt. Fitz gladly obliges.

"Maybe you should tell me what the problem is,” Jemma suggests. She cups his face and leans forward to rest her forehead on his. “Maybe if you tell me about what you’re working on, I can help.”

Fitz's hands freeze just as he's about to push the shirt off her shoulders. Even though his thoughts are hazy, he can hear the alarm sirens in his head loud and clear. "What was that?"

Jemma leans back and shrugs her shoulders, clearly attempting to shake the shirt off so she can get Fitz back on track. "It was nothing. Let's keep going."

Fitz's jaw drops. "You're trying to seduce information out of me!"

"Do you like my new lingerie?" Jemma asks desperately.

Fitz grips her hips and pushes her off his lap. Her limbs flail as she topples onto the couch. "You're unbelievable!" he exclaims, indignant, rising to his feet. "I thought that this -" - he gestures towards her outfit - "- was for me!"

"It is!" Jemma insists, pushing herself into a sitting position. She frowns guiltily. "Mostly."

"That's it!" Fitz shouts, pointing at her. "No more practice!"

"What?! Why?!" Jemma protests. Fitz tries to ignore her adorable pout that, God, she somehow manages to make _sexy_ with her red lips pushing out and her tousled hair falling into her eyes.

"Because you're using your -" Fitz gestures up and down her body. "Your...feminine wiles...to trick me!"

Jemma rolls her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Fitz. I wasn't trying to trick you."

Fitz scowls. "Well, better safe than sorry. You're not getting near any of _this_ ," he proclaims, gesturing towards his own body, "until this course is over!"

Jemma crosses her arms, inadvertently (or maybe purposefully?) pushing up her breasts. "We're in week four of an eight-week course," she points out.

Fitz shrugs. "So? I've gone longer before."

Jemma snorts. "Not since we started practicing."

Fitz crosses his arms over his chest. "I'd be more worried about yourself - you get horny way more often than I do!"

Jemma's jaw drops and she leaps to her feet, incensed. "That's nowhere near true! You initiate practice at least half the time!"

"Are you serious?" Fitz scoffs. "You're constantly jumping my bones!"

Jemma smiles impishly at him. "Speaking of bones..." She glances at his crotch. "Or one in particular..."

"Unbelievable," Fitz mutters.

Jemma shrugs her shirt off, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie. "You're really saying that you don't want to?" she wheedles, stepping closer to him and clasping her hands around his neck.

Fitz unthinkingly leans closer to her before remembering himself. He reaches up to pry open her fingers and steps back from her hold. "Of course I want to, Simmons," he tells her, still holding on to her hands in both of his. "But I am an evolved human being - I don't have to surrender to my base instincts." He drops her hands and takes another step back. "I'll be in my room," he mutters, turning and walking to his door.

Jemma walks after him - is she actually following him to his bedroom? Fitz turns around in his doorway to face her. "You're not invited," he informs her before shutting the door in her face.

Something thumps against the door from the other side, rattling the door in its frame. "Fine!” he hears Jemma shout from the other side. "But this lingerie was very expensive, so if you're wanking, you better be wanking to me!"


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma glances around the Boiler Room, annoyed that Sally is nowhere in sight. Wasn’t she supposed to be her wingwoman?

Not that Jemma needs a wingwoman. Not that Jemma even wants to be in the Boiler Room, attempting to pick up men in the first place. But earlier in the day, Sally had somehow gotten her to admit that Fitz has been, in Sally’s words, “Lysistrating” her (“You really need to stop turning proper nouns into verbs,” Jemma groused) for the past week and had insisted that Jemma join her in the Boiler Room tonight to take care of that particular frustration.

Jemma wouldn’t even be so frustrated if Fitz weren’t being so… _Fitz_. Despite banning certain _activities_ , he was as sweet as ever - picking up take-out for dinner on the way home from work, urging her to sit down and let him take care of the dishes, making her tea, and, for some odd reason, stocking their pantry with Saltines. Jemma wonders if he’s always been this doting, or if this is his version of trying to seduce _her_.

If that IS his plan, Jemma is embarrassed to admit that it’s working. She’s never so badly wanted to grab him and kiss him senseless. It was an urge she tries not to look at too closely. After all, isn’t it completely natural to want to snog - and perhaps dryhump - your best friend to express your gratitude?

Jemma takes a long sip of the violently pink drink that Sally ordered for her before essentially _abandoning_ her. She grimaces at the overly saccharine taste - she almost prefers the tequila shots Sally made her down earlier in the evening to get her to “loosen up.” Jemma is about to return to the bar to replace her cocktail with a beer when Sally comes bounding up to her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Okay, I have a few contenders,” Sally announces. She shoves at Jemma’s right shoulder, turning her around before grabbing her again from behind to steady her. “3 o’ clock. In the green shirt.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “He’s wearing cargo shorts.”

Jemma can practically hear Sally rolling her eyes. “Well, he wouldn’t have to wear them for what you’re planning, but point taken.” Sally pushes at her again, turning her 45 degrees. “Straight ahead, playing pool. Not the redhead - the blonde.”

Jemma frowns. “Isn’t that Aronson? But he’s so boring!”

“Well, it’s not like you want him for his scintillating conversation,” Sally points out.

“I don’t think I want him at all,” Jemma retorts.

Sally doesn’t respond, instead lunging towards a neighboring table that had just been abandoned to grab the half-empty basket of loaded potato skins they left behind.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, Sally - really?”

Sally shrugs, biting into one of the clumps of congealed cheese and bacon. “No point in letting perfectly good food go to waste.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I think we have vastly different opinions on what constitutes ‘perfectly good food.’ How is it that you can eat like that and not get sick?”

Sally pats her stomach. “Stomach made of steel. It’s my secret superpower. But you’re not getting away with changing the subject because believe it or not, I saved the best for last.” She turns Jemma again so that they’re facing the bar. “There, talking the the bartender. Tall, dark, and handsome.”

Jemma bites her bottom lip. “He is quite well-formed,” she admits.

Sally practically shoves her forward. “Go for it!”

Jemma stumbles forward a few steps, before catching herself. She takes two hesitant steps towards the bar, then turns back to look at Sally a bit pathetically. “I don’t know if I can,” she confesses.

Sally rolls her eyes and walks forward to hook her elbow through Jemma’s. “Fine, I’ll make the introductions. But after that, it’s all on you, you hear?”

Jemma tries to tamp down the panic rising in her chest, digging her heels into the floor, tugging Sally back to her. “No, I mean -” Jemma lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “I don’t know if I can do the whole casual thing.”

Sally raises an eyebrow. “But you said you and Fitz are casual,” she reminds Jemma. “I mean, friends with benefits is like the definition of casual.”

Jemma shakes her head. “I know, but that’s different. It’s a different kind of casual.”

“How so?”

Jemma opens her mouth automatically to respond before realizing she has no words. She snaps her mouth closed.

“Compelling argument, Dr. Simmons,” Sally says drily.

“It’s just that...I...I…” Jemma stammers. “I trust him. And I know him.”

“And you love him,” Sally supplies casually.

“Exactly,” Jemma agrees before even processing what Sally said. Once her words catch up with her, though, Jemma shakes her head as though to rattle away the thought and yelps, “I mean, no! I mean, as a friend, yes, but I mean, more than that? I never _dreamed_ -”

“Simmons,” Sally cut her off, holding a hand up. “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s not that you like sex with Fitz because it’s sex - maybe you like sex with Fitz because it’s _Fitz_.”

Jemma opens her mouth to tell Sally, “Don’t be absurd,” or “That’s ridiculous,” but instead what comes out is a very surprised and breathy, “ _Oh._ ”

Sally rolls her eyes. “Yes. Oh. _Now_ you’re catching up.”

Jemma looks at Sally questioningly. “I...love Fitz?”

Sally nods. “I think you do.”

Jemma frowns and looks askance. “I should go home. And tell him. Or something.” She turns to look at Sally, hopelessly confused.

Sally points behind her. “The door is that way,” she reminds her helpfully.

Jemma nods slowly. “Right. So. I’m going then.” She doesn’t move a muscle.

Sally groans in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, do I have to do everything myself?” She grabs Jemma’s arm and practically drags her to the door. “Let’s get you home.”

\-----------------------

“Oh, God,” Sara groans. “Faster! Go faster!”

“What are you doing? That’s not helping!” Fitz squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t look!”

The door opens and slams shut behind them and Fitz turns around to see Jemma stumble into their flat. “Fitz! I have to -” She stops short when she sees Fitz and Sara on the couch. “Oh.”

Fitz looks at her from over the back of the couch, feeling strangely guilty. “Simmons,” he greets her. “You’re back early.”

Jemma frowns, looking at the television in time to see the radioactive-green shark-monster wrestle the bicycle chain away from the cowboy that Fitz and Sara had been shouting at just moments earlier. “Are you watching SharkOgre 2: Shreklectric Boogaloo without me? I thought we were going to watch it together.”

“But you said you were going out with Sally,” Fitz points out.

“But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to watch it with you!” Jemma complains.

Sara shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I should probably go,” she tells them, rising to her feet.

Jemma shakes her head. “No - stay. Finish the movie. It’s fine,” she says tersely, her voice contradicting her statement that it’s fine.

“Watch it with us,” Fitz urges her. “We’re only about 30 minutes in.”

Jemma glances briefly at the screen. “I’d rather watch it from the beginning so I can follow what’s going on.”

Fitz knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help rolling his eyes. “It’ll be fine, Simmons. Nobody watches SharkOgre for the _plot_ , anyhow.”

Jemma imitates his eyeroll and says sarcastically, “Then I guess I’m ‘nobody’, huh?” She huffs to her room and closes her door unnecessarily loudly.

Sara frowns at Fitz. “Is everything okay with you two?”

Fitz stares at Jemma’s door and shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

\------------------------

Fitz paces outside the bathroom door. She’s been in there for an awfully long time - she went in when the credits for the movie started rolling, and had stayed in there while Fitz and Sara said goodbye and made plans to study the next day, and now it’s been five minutes since Sara left and she’s still in there. What could she be doing?

Maybe she’s throwing up again. Maybe she’s taking a pregnancy test.

Maybe that’s why she was irritated when she came home. Maybe she needed him and he wasn’t there for her.

His mind made up, he turns the doorknob and walks into the bathroom.

Jemma looks up from her perch on the toilet. “Fitz!” she yelps, squeezing her legs together. “What are you doing?”

Fitz raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know why she’s so upset - it’s not like it’s the first time he’s seen her on the toilet. He quickly scans the room for any signs of the telltale white stick. Not seeing it, but still wanting to convey that he’s there to support her should she need it, he leans sideways against the door frame.

“So...using the bathroom, huh?” he observes. He sighs and shakes his head, commiserating, “We’ve all been there.”

The look Jemma gives him is downright murderous, and he can’t help but note aloud, “Huh. I guess you do glare sometimes.”

“What are you doing, Fitz?” Jemma groans, more exasperated than angry. She stands and pulls up her underwear and pajama pants.

“Just…” Fitz pokes at the doorframe with his index finger, focusing intently on it as though it will tell him the right thing to say. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Jemma rolls her eyes as she washes her hands. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Fitz asks, disbelievingly. Jemma pushes past him and he follows her to her room. “Because if you need anything - water, Saltines -”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma whirls around to face him in her bedroom doorway. “Stop trying to get me to eat Saltines!”

“- pillows -”

“Why would I need _more_ -”

“Do you want to spoon?”

Jemma’s mouth snaps shut as she considers his offer. “Really?” she asks apprehensively.

“Yeah, if it’ll help you feel better,” Fitz assures her, relieved that he’s found a solution.

Jemma’s eyebrows crinkle. “Could I be the little spoon this time?”

Fitz hesitates.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Fitz-”

Fitz holds up his hands in surrender. “Yes, alright, alright - you can be the little spoon.”

Jemma opens her door a little wider and steps to the side. Fitz walks in and wordlessly removes his jumper and his jeans, leaving on his boxers and undershirt, before climbing into his side of her bed. Jemma crawls in next to him, curling up in front of him so that her hips notch into his. They fall asleep that way, with Fitz’s arm slung over her waist and Jemma’s fingers tangled in his.

It’s the best sleep Jemma gets that week.


	6. Chapter 6

Sara paces in front of Jemma. "So."

Jemma glances around the closet-sized interrogation room to look for cameras or recorders. It's bad enough that Oates was sitting behind the two-way mirror, having come in to observe; she hardly needs evidence of her inevitable crash and burn to be recorded for all of eternity.

"How long have you and Fitz been friends?"

Jemma darts her eyes back to Sara. "Don't you mean Weber? Fitz is your co-interrogator."

Sara waves her hand towards the mirror. "Oates is taking her dinner break. There's no one on the other side of the glass."

"Oh." Jemma looks down at the table. "Uh, since our first year here. We were sixteen."

"Interesting," Sara muses, as though she's observed something unusual.

Jemma looks up at Sara. "Huh?"

"Usually all your tells would indicate you're lying, but I'm relatively certain you're telling the truth, which means that your mannerisms are based on emotion and not cognitive effort." Sara turns around the chair on the other side of the table and straddles it, folding her arms across the top of its back. "Why are you nervous, Simmons?"

"I'm not nervous!" Jemma squeaks. She clears her throat and leans against her elbow on the table, giving a little half shrug with one shoulder. "I'm not nervous." That's better. Much more casual. She's supposed to smile, too, she remembers. She plasters on a wide grin, making sure to show all her teeth.

Sara raises an eyebrow. She's skeptical, which means that there must be another nonverbal cue Jemma's forgetting...talking too slow. That was it. She needs to say things without thinking too much about it. Just say the first thing that comes to mind.

"What are you hiding?" Sara asks.

"Nothing."

"Is there something going on between you and Fitz?"

Couch everything in the truth. "We're best friends."

"Anything else?"

"Lab partners. Roommates."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing!"

"So it's okay if I ask him out?"

Jemma sucks in a breath. She knows it's physically impossible, but she swears her heart stops beating. She turns towards the corner of the room. "Yup." She focuses all her attention on keeping her eyes dry. She won't have to blink back tears if she doesn't have tears in the first place. Do not form tears. Don't do it. "Totally fine."

"Ha!" Sara jumps to her feet and points at Jemma. The empty chair clatters on the ground. "You're lying!"

"Why would I lie about that?" Jemma evades.

"I don't know. Why would you say it's okay if it's not okay? And why wouldn't it be okay?"

"It's okay!" Jemma insists.

"So if there's nothing going on between the two of you, what would be the problem?" Sara muses, tapping a finger against the corner of her lips. She turns to Jemma, her eyes wide in shock. "You think he's too good for me!" she accuses.

Jemma furiously shakes her head. "No! That's not it at all!"

"So what is it? You think I'm not smart enough?"

"No!"

"Not pretty enough?"

"Of course not - you're a very lovely - I mean, very physically appeal-"

"Then what is it?" Sara shouts, her voice rising. "You obviously don't think I'm his type!"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to!"

"Simon, I don't-"

"There's something! I know there is!"

"I ca-"

Sara slams her hand on the table. "TELL ME!"

"HE'S GAY!"

\----------------------

Fitz tries his best to look stern. "How long have you been conducting research on GH-15?"

Sally shrugs and leans back in her seat. "I don't know. How long have you and Dr. Simmons been lovaahhhhs?" she retorts, drawing out the last syllable.

Fitz wrinkles his nose. "Very mature." He sits down in the seat across from her. "And at what point did you discover its regenerative properties?"

Sally stifles a grin. "At what point did you discover Dr. Simmons's vajayjay?"

Fitz’s eyes widen. “I...that’s not...you…” he sputters, before covering his face with his hands and groaning, “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Is that what you said when Dr. Simmons su-”

“Stop!” Fitz shouts, shooting to his feet and pointing at her. “You’re lucky I’m the good cop or else you’d be getting waterboarded right now!” He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you laughing?! I’m serious! Stop that!” He stalks over to the mirror and frantically knocks on it. “Someone get me a glass of water and a pipette!”

“Oh my God,” Sally gasps amidst her uproarious laughter. “You are too precious for this world.” She wipes away an errant tear. “No wonder Simmons is in love with you.”

Fitz turns so quickly, Sally’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “Whatdidyousay?” he asks sharply.

“That you’re too precious for this world?” Sally repeats, playing dumb.

Fitz glares at her.

“Ohhh, you mean about Simmons being in love with you?” Sally grins.

“That’s not funny, Sally.”

Sally crosses her arms on the table and leans forward. “It’s not meant to be funny, genius. The girl’s got it bad. Probably more so than you.”

“Not possible,” Fitz says automatically.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s admitted to until Sally lets out a quite patronizing “Awwwww!”

Fitz squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nope, I know what you’redoing Sally, and it’s not going to work. You are not distracting me from the task at hand.” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “Tell me about the GH-15, Dr. Weber.”

“You should take her to Fleur de Lys. It’s so romantic.”

Fitz sighs in mock disappointment as he sinks into the chair across from her. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t know anything,” he laments. “Why would anyone trust you with anything more complicated than grunt work? Everyone knows that Dr. Simmons is twice as smart as you.”

Sally looks at him incredulously. “Are you trying to pride-and-ego-down me? That is _adorable_.” 

Fitz groans and looks at his watch. Only five more minutes to go.

\---------------------

Jemma's eyes widen and her first instinct is to cover her big, stupid mouth with her hand, but it's jerked back down by the handcuffs binding her to the table.

"What?" Sara blurts.

"I mean, I'M gay!" Jemma corrects herself. "Is what I meant to say. Nope, not Fitz. Me."

Sara covers her face with her hands. "Oh my God, of course he's gay. I've been so stupid."

"No!" Jemma yells. "It's me, I swear. I meant to say that I'M gay, but it came out wrong."

Sara looks at Jemma suspiciously. "And why would you being gay be a problem if Fitz and I wanted to date?"

Jemma's eyes dart around the room. "Because...I...have a crush on you." Jemma nods eagerly. "There, I've said it. I don't want you to date Fitz because I want you to date me. But I know you're straight as an arrow, so." Jemma snaps her fingers. "Darn. Oh well."

Sara crosses her arms and looks at her appraisingly. "You know, you just gave like, 18 tells that you're lying," Sara informs her. She sits back down across from Jemma. "Look, I know you feel bad that you spilled the beans about Fitz, but I swear that I won't tell anyone. His secret is safe with me."

“He doesn’t have any secrets,” Jemma says desperately. “I have the secrets. _All_ the secrets. Remember my project? That was a fun topic of conversation. Let’s talk about that again.”

Sara's watch lets out a series of beeps. She glances at it and stands. "Time to switch," she announces.

Switch. Which means Fitz…

Jemma slumps in her seat. "Shite."

\----------------------

"How's Weber?" Sara asks as soon as she enters the hallway, closing the door of the interrogation room behind her.

Fitz shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pocket. "The usual. Keeps answering questions with questions. How's Simmons?"

Sara hesitates. "Well, she broke..."

Fitz grins. "That's great!" he exclaims. "We're done, then - we can both take on Weber and wrap up early!"

Sara grabs Fitz's arm. "No, I mean." She takes a deep breath. "She accidentally told me your secret."

Fitz wrinkles his brow in confusion. "What secret?"

Sara winces. "The one that only you and Simmons know."

Fitz shakes his head. "I don't-"

Sara puts a hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes. "Fitz. You don't have to pretend anymore. I know."

Fitz's face blooms in comprehension. " _That?!_ She told you that?!" He knew that Jemma was terrible under pressure, but he can't believe that she would share something so personal - not to mention completely irrelevant to the situation at hand.

"I promise I won't tell a soul," Sara assures him.

Fitz runs a hand down his face. "I appreciate that, Simon."

"And look." Sara gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "I will be behind you one hundred percent, whenever you're ready to come out of the closet." She lets go of him and walks into Sally's interrogation room.

"What?" Fitz asks himself, playing over her words again in his head. _Whenever you're ready to…_

"SIMMONS!" Fitz bellows, barging into her interrogation room and slamming the door behind him. "Did you tell Simons I'm _gay_?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. Yeah, this seems like a pretty good spot to end this chapter ;)
> 
> Just one more to go! Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma winces. "There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” she reminds him timidly.

Fitz groans. “Of course not, Simmons - but there IS something wrong with lying! Are you trying to make sure I never date _anyone_?”

"No! Of course not!" Jemma insists. "I even told Simons I would be fine with it if she asked you out, but she could tell I was lying!"

"So it's not okay with you?" Fitz asks incredulously. "So what...I don’t...what do you…” Fitz sighs deeply and squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So am I supposed to be stuck in this limbo with you forever?”

Jemma’s bottom lip trembles. “I would do _anything_ -”

“Is it because you’re afraid of losing me because of your condition?” Fitz interrupts.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “My what?”

“Because I know that sometimes with the influx of hormones, women get a little emotional -”

Jemma’s jaw drops. “Don’t you dare try to blame this on -”

“- but you have to know that I’ll support any decision you make -”

“- PMS - my thoughts and feelings are legitimate regardless of -”

“- even if you want to keep it, we’ll find a way to make it work -”

“- and you of all people know how hard I work to get -”

“I can move into your room and my room can be the nursery - I already have a Pinterest board full of ideas. And if -”

“- to get people to take me seriously. Just because I’m a woman -”

“- your grandma makes a fuss - I know how traditional she is - we could, I don’t know, get married if you want.”

“- everyone assumes that - wait, what?” Jemma shakes her head. “ _What_?”

Fitz shrugs. “I mean, you’re my best friend, Simmons.”

Jemma gapes at him. “But you just suggested we get married.”

Fitz holds up his hands. “Only if it’s important to you - I know that we’re completely capable of co-parenting without a piece of paper. If you want to keep it, I mean.”

“Keep…” Jemma repeats slowly, still having trouble following the conversation.

“The baby?” Fitz supplies.

“We’re having a baby?” Jemma asks, confused.

Fitz frowns. “Aren’t we?”

Jemma looks down at the table. “Fitz...do you...think...I’m _pregnant_?”

Fitz winces. “Are...you...not?”

Jemma’s eyes widen. “Of course not, you berk!” she shouts. “Don’t you think you’d be the first person I told if I were?”

“But...morning sickness?”

“You mean that _one_ morning I was throwing up because I had _food poisoning_?”

“Well, Weber didn’t have food poisoning!”

“Well, I checked on Yelp and my experience was _not_ uncommon! And frankly, I’m not convinced that Weber doesn’t have some sort of superpower, because not only did she eat the leftover rolls the table next to us had left behind, she - ”

Fitz barely hears her as he attempts to reconcile Jemma’s recent symptoms with the fact that they weren’t really symptoms at all. But if she’s not pregnant, what else could account for the moodiness, the loss of appetite, the way she told Sara that…wait. Wait. Was Weber…

"Weber said you love me!" Fitz blurts.

Jemma’s voice falters and she stares wide-eyed at Fitz silently for a long moment. Her mouth opens and closes several times. Finally, she shakes her head slightly, looking at him pleadingly with her eyebrows knitted together.

Fitz presses his lips tightly together before continuing. “Because you’ve been acting strange for weeks now and Weber kept saying it’s because you were jealous of the time I was spending with Simon, and I thought that maybe it was because you were pregnant, but if you’re not, Weber’s explanation is the only other one that seems plausible.” Fitz swallows nervously. " _Do_ you love me?" he asks uncertainly.

Jemma shrugs helplessly and looks askance. "You're my best friend in the world. You know I love you," she reminds him, her voice wavering.

Fitz drops into the seat across from her. "You know what I meant, Jemma." He reaches forward and lightly taps the knuckle of her ring finger with the tip of his pointer finger. "Jem. Please look at me."

Jemma looks at him out of the corner of her eye, still turned towards the corner of the room. "Do you _want_ me to love you?" she asks, her voice apprehensive.

Fitz’s heart is beating so hard that he’s afraid the reverberations will shatter his rib cage. He shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is breathy and weightless. “I want you to feel whatever it is you feel.” His words rise to the ceiling like a helium balloon.

“Oh.” Jemma sounds almost disappointed. “Then, yes.”

Fitz blinks. “Yes?” he repeats.

“Yeah.” Jemma meets his eyes. “I love you,” she says, her voice more decisive this time.

"Oh." Fitz scans his brain, but all his words are like library books that have been put back on the shelves out of order. "Good."

Jemma looks at him nervously, biting her bottom lip. "Good?"

Fitz rubs the back of his neck, looking at her shyly. "Yeah. Good. I, um...I love you too."

Jemma feels as though her heart is like an untied balloon filled with air that has been let loose, air whooshing out, propelling it around her chest cavity. "You do?" she asks breathlessly.

Fitz nods. "Yeah," he exhales.

Jemma offers him a small smile. “What do you think we should do about it?”

Fitz scratches behind his ear and looks down at the ground. “Well, I think we’ve both practiced a lot.” He looks back up at her, his eyes hopeful. “I think we’re ready for the real thing. Don’t you?”

Jemma nods rapidly. “I agree.”

They stare at each other for a few long moments, their chests heaving, breathing heavily. Then, all at once, they shoot to their feet, lunging across the table at each other. Jemma gasps in surprise as she's quickly jerked back into her seat by her handcuff. Jemma bursts into laughter, but Fitz barely reacts. Instead, he quickly skirts around the table and sinks to his knees in front of Jemma, grabbing her face with his hands and kissing her as though they haven't kissed in two years instead of two weeks.

Jemma parts her lips against his and brings her hand up to his neck, hoping that he feels her desperation as acutely as she feels his. They push and pull against each other, ebbing and flowing and crashing like ocean waves made gray and violent by stormy skies. Fitz's hands travel across her, tugging at her hair as he weaves his fingers through them, pulling her waist closer to his torso, and it's like he's everywhere all at once.

If Jemma thought the handcuffs were an unnecessary nuisance earlier, she absolutely loathes them now. She wants to grab him with both hands, hold him tightly to her, and that feeling is back, the feeling that he could never be close enough for her, and that's especially true now when there's something quite literally holding her back.

“It’s a paralyzing agent," Jemma gasps against his lips.

Fitz pulls back. "What?"

“I’m telling you so we can go home,” Jemma explains. “It blocks sodium channels, resulting in mmMPH!”

Fitz abruptly covers her mouth with his hand. "I'm not letting you fail this class just because you're horny."

Jemma grabs his wrist with her free hand and pushes his hand away. “Ugh, Fitz! I’m not horny - I just...just…” Jemma groans, exasperated. “It’s not about the physical stuff - it’s just, I’m tired of wasting time, Fitz. Aren’t you?”

Fitz nods slowly. “In that case, I should probably tell you that I’ve been working non-lethal incapacitating gun. I was trying to finalize the design and stabilize the hyperbaric chamber before I showed it to you.”

Jemma’s smile brightens. “That’s brilliant, Fitz! Why didn’t you tell me earlier - we could’ve been working on it together!”

Fitz shrugs, looking down at the floor bashfully. “I wanted to show you a finished prototype. I wanted to impress you.”

Jemma reaches forward with her free hand, cupping his cheek. “Oh, Fitz. _Everything_ you do impresses me.”

Fitz looks up at her, a suggestive smile spreading across his face. “Yeah? Everything?”

Jemma nods, pulling him closer to her. “Mmhmm.”

“Because I have a few things I’d like to impress you with at home,” Fitz jokes, leaning in.

Jemma laughs as they kiss each other again. And again. And again.

\---------------------

Agent Oates sits on the other side of the two-way mirror, flanked by Doctors Weber and Simon.

“I really must thank you, ladies,” Agent Oates tells them. “Dr. Hall has won our last three bets. I really was overdue for a win.”

“Our pleasure,” Dr. Simon assures her. “I hope this means we’ve passed the Strategic Entrapment and Subterfuge portion of our field assessment.”

“With flying colors,” Agent Oates promises her.

Dr. Weber sighs as she watches Fitzsimmons on the other side of the glass. “It’s a good thing this isn’t a real course. They are truly hopeless.”

“You think she’ll be mad when she finds out she doesn’t get actual credit for this course?” Dr. Simon asks.

Dr. Weber shrugs. “I think she’ll be more relieved that her GPA isn’t ruined and her place at the top of the class is secure. Besides, she can’t get too mad - look how happy she is.”

Dr. Simon grimaces as Fitzsimmons’ fumblings roam into more PG-13 territory. “We should let them go home before this goes any further.”

Dr. Weber nudges her. “And then we should go celebrate. I know a _great _sushi place.”__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've really enjoyed reading all your feedback! 
> 
> I'm LalalliCat on Tumblr - let's be friends!


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